


Chosen

by killabeez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: salt_burn_porn, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Post-Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This might be their last night on earth, so Sam figures, what the hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> No actual character death within the story, but there's some implication.

_Lock and key._ They've heard that phrase, used it themselves more than once these last few years. It's how Dean likes to put it—this messed up thing of theirs, where either one of them can make a disastrous decision, but together they're a destructive force capable of wiping out the planet. For years, Sam told himself that they did more good than harm, that they could fix the things they broke. Sometimes he even believed it.

Those days are over. Hell is in chaos, Heaven's halfway destroyed, and the world has been swallowed by the Darkness. Sam still believes Dean is a good man, or that he would have been, if Sam had never been born. He believes the same thing about himself. But when Billie tells them what it's going to take to end the nightmare, it feels right. It feels inevitable. And he knows Dean feels the same way, because underneath the sadness and resignation on Dean's face, when he meets Sam's eyes, what Sam sees is relief. 

* * *

"Is it weird that I miss the stars the most?" Sam asks.

Outside the fifty-yard swath of the Impala's headlights, the world is an impenetrable wall of night. They might as well be suspended in a bubble, floating in space; if it weren't for the familiar rush and hum of the road under the tires, they might not be moving at all.

"Technically, the sun is a star," says Dean.

"Idiot. You know what I mean." They haven't seen the sun in almost a month.

Dean's quiet for a moment, concentrating on the road. Driving in this is worse than driving in fog, and if this is going to be their last twelve hours on earth, Dean Winchester's not about to run his car into a ditch.

"That's not all I'm gonna miss," he says at last.

Despite himself, Sam fights a smile. It's an old game, one they used to play when they were kids. _If you were stuck on a desert island…_ "Oh, yeah? What else? And don't say cheeseburgers."

"Fine, be that way. Felicity Jones."

Sam considers. He counters, "Lupita Nyong'o."

"Fresh apple pie with a nice, thick slice of cheese on it. The good kind, not that plastic crap."

"Jody's roast chicken."

Dean makes a noise of approval. "Nice. The next Star Wars movie."

"Wonder Woman."

"Zeppelin IV."

"The internet."

Dean hesitates, and Sam sobers. He can't help the bubble of punchy euphoria that keeps welling up in his chest. The last time he felt like this, they were going to face Lilith, singing Bon Jovi at the top of their lungs. He should be terrified.

"You sure about this, man?" Dean risks a glance at him, all their lives, everything they've been through together in that look.

"Yeah. I'm sure." And he is. But his heart feels too full, like it's going to spill over. He hasn't felt like this in so long. He's aware of the effect that feeling is having on him, the heady combination of being here with Dean in this moment and of knowing what's to come. "You?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm in if you are, you know that. But I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't a little nervous."

They're only three hours from Lebanon, but three hours suddenly feels like too much. Sam's pulse beats an unsteady rhythm, and sweat prickles under his arms. This might be his last chance. "Listen, we've got till tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Sam takes a deep breath.

* * *

There's a motel they know outside Topeka. The place is deserted, the office ransacked, but the building still has power and the key card machine still works. "Honeymoon suite," Sam says, all bravado as he brandishes the card, but his voice cracks.

It shouldn't be this awkward, Dean thinks. He's known for a long time that they were headed down this road, that they probably have been their whole lives. They've come close. And God knows Sam's figured prominently in his spank bank fantasies for years. But somehow, as long as he kept it from becoming reality, they'd maintained plausible deniability. Didn't matter how many snide remarks and innuendos they got, or how joined at the hip they were, he could call it something else instead of what it was.

Sam's uncharacteristically clumsy with the key card, but he finally gets the door open. Dean steps inside and reaches for the light switch.

Sam stops him, his hand on Dean's. His touch is warm, his fingertips pressing gently at Dean's wrist. Dean sucks in a sharp breath, his pulse heavy at his throat. Gooseflesh rushes over him, his body all too aware of what's about to happen.

Sam curls his fingers around Dean's wrist. Dean's not sure if it's Sam who hauls him in, or if he's the one who moves first, but their bodies align, Sam's thigh pressing close between his legs. Dean's breath comes faster, Sam warm and solid against him. Fuck. It's almost pitch black in the room, broken only by the faint, citrine glow from the parking lot at the edge of the curtain.

"Sam," he says, not sure if it's a warning or something else. Low-level terror knots in his stomach. Why did he think this was a good idea?

"It's okay, Dean," Sam says, his voice low. "It's just us." He pulls Dean closer still. Dean can feel his erection, hot and hard where it presses into Dean's belly. "Won't matter tomorrow, anyway."

A fine sweat breaks out all over Dean's body, and a low ache blooms deep. "You gotta tell me if—"

"I will. I swear." Sam swallows. "Can I kiss you?"

Dean closes his eyes. "Yeah, okay." His voice doesn't sound right. He thinks maybe he's losing his mind. Then Sam's mouth finds his, and he's sure of it.

The truth is, as often as he's thought about it, as often as unbidden images have crossed his mind, he's never really considered what it would be like to kiss his brother. Sam's—really forceful, but somehow careful at the same time, and his tongue—oh, fuck. Dean makes a sound he can't control and reaches for Sam without meaning to. His fingers sink into Sam's hair, and Sam seems to like that, judging by the hum of encouragement he gives. Sam kicks the door shut behind them, and Dean spares a second to think, _hot,_ before his brain deserts him entirely. Maybe Sam's not the one who needs the safe word.

Sam finally breaks away, panting. His breath is sweet against Dean's neck, his body long and lean where he's backed up against the wall, one hand on Dean's hip. "Okay, wow."

Dean can't help a flush of gratification. "Yeah?"

Sam huffs a laugh. "Yeah." He leans back and his head hits the wall as he tries to catch his breath. "Man. I really didn't—I mean, I did, but—" Finally he gets himself together and straightens. "We okay?"

Dean lets out a breath, and a smile escapes with it. "Yeah. We're good." _Understatement,_ he thinks. If he's ever felt anything like this, he can't remember it. The smile widens into a grin. "That all you got?"

"Jerk," Sam says, and Dean hears the answering grin even though he can't see shit. It's all the warning he gets. Sam gets hold of him and turns them, Dean's back hitting the wall, Sam's hands sliding up under his shirt. It's better like this, the two of them grappling in the dark; it's honest, and all the sweeter for the way they don't need to see each other to read each other. Sam's mouth makes demands that Dean is more than ready to answer, and the whole time he's twisted up inside with knowing this is the last time they'll ever get to do this.

"Shit," he swears, struggling with Sam's shirt buttons. "Shoulda done this years ago." He's so hard it's not even funny.

"Shoulda done it when you first came to get me at school," Sam agrees, low and fervent. He doesn't bother with buttons, yanking Dean's shirts over his head and down his arms. He casts them aside and gets his hands on Dean's bare skin, fingertips digging in. "No idea how bad I wanted to."

"Fuck, are you—" Dean sucks in a breath. He wishes he could see Sam's face. "You serious?"

Sam fumbles with Dean's belt. "Since I was fourteen."

"Sam—" Dean squeezes his arms. He shakes Sam a little. 

"What?"

"Pissing me off, that's what. You gotta tell me this shit now?"

"Dean." Sam pins him in place, his whole body a solid line of intent. "You would never have gone through with it. You know that. So forget about it, okay? It doesn't matter any more." He kisses Dean like his life depends on it, and after the first ten seconds, Dean forgets to be pissed. When Sam finally breaks for air, he gets out, "Can I suck you?"

Dean lets out a groan. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me. Yeah, man." His head hits the wall as Sam sinks to one knee and works Dean's jeans open. His dick practically leaps into Sam's hand. His little brother's about to suck his cock, and all he can think is that he hopes God and the angels aren't watching right now. Then Sam breathes across the wet crown, sucks the tip between his lips, and Dean shivers hard as his spine threatens to melt right out of his body.

It's been a while since he had his dick sucked. Sam's not especially skilled at it, but he's careful, big hands cradling Dean's hips, tongue soft where it counts, and when Dean glances down, he can make out the broad angle of Sam's shoulders. His mind fills in the rest: Sam's sharp features, brow furrowed in concentration; the bow of his lips; the fall of his hair as he moves up and down on Dean's cock. "Jesus, Sammy," he gets out. His hands come up to cradle Sam's head, and Sam makes a faint sound like it pains him. "Okay. Okay." Dean barely knows what he's saying. "C'mon, man."

He tugs at Sam's shirt until Sam lets up. "Sorry," Sam gets out, leaning his head against Dean's thigh. "Sorry, I just—"

"Hey." Dean tugs harder, hauling Sam up against him. "Let's take this to bed, okay? I wanna—I wanna do this right."

They hold on to each other for a minute, fighting to keep it together. Dean feels as shaky as a newborn kitten, but Sam's right there with him, so close Dean can feel his heartbeat. A month ago, he'd thought Sam was dead, and he'd known without a doubt that life was over for him, too. Every minute since then was a gift, and never more so than right now.

Sam laughs, the huff of his breath warm against Dean's neck. "Can't believe you let me talk you into this," he admits.

Dean twists his fingers into Sam's hair, holding him close. "Can't believe it took you this long," he says, gruff.

* * *

"Oh, god. Yeah, no, keep going. Keep—oh, fuck." Sam sucks in air through his nose and clutches at Dean's back. He wants it; he's pretty much wanted it his whole life. But Dean's big, and thick, and Sam hasn't done this since college.

"You okay?" Dean stops, effort plain in his voice. He feels amazing, arms braced around Sam's torso, his hands spread wide against Sam's shoulders. They're doing it face-to-face, and Sam's desperately grateful that he can't see much of anything. He doesn't think they'd survive it if they could look each other in the eye.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." 

Dean slides a little deeper; a rush of pleasure prickles over Sam's skin in response. His pulse thunders in his chest, and a faint groan escapes him. 

"Yeah?" Dean asks, a hint of smugness surfacing.

"Screw you."

"Maybe next time." 

He pushes all the way in, and Sam can't quite catch his breath. There's gonna be a next time, Sam swears, even as he's fighting to keep hold of his sanity. And as many times after that as he can manage in the hours they have left. 

Dean starts to fuck him slowly, then, a careful, steady rhythm that breaks him apart piece by piece. "Dean," Sam gets out when there's nothing left. He shudders and starts to come against Dean's stomach, clutching helplessly at his brother.

"Yeah," Dean chokes. "Yeah, baby. I gotcha."

Dean lasts only a few unsteady strokes more. Sam holds him close for the duration, until Dean collapses more or less into his arms. 

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out noisily into Dean's neck, euphoria, terror, and exhaustion getting the better of him. He wants to call Dean on the 'baby' slip, but he feels too good.

"We really gonna do this?" he says instead. He tucks his face against Dean's, cupping one hand against the crown of his head.

Dean grunts, rubbing his face against Sam's shoulder. "Looks like." 

Before Sam can get too comfortable, Dean pulls out with a slick pop, and Sam grimaces at the wet rush of Dean's come. Okay, so, condoms have their advantages. "Ugh," he says.

Dean punches him on the arm. "Ugh? Seriously? That's what I get?"

"Towel," Sam demands.

"Princess."

"Damn right." Dean fumbles for Sam's discarded shirt and cleans him up with that, then tosses it aside. "Dude," Sam protests. "What am I supposed to wear, now?"

Dean flops down beside him and throws an arm over Sam's chest. "Does it matter? We're gonna be cursed forever and banished to the outer reaches of space in like, twelve hours, so who gives a fuck?"

There's something seriously wrong with him, Sam thinks, that he's not even scared. They'll be together, for some version of together—maybe forever, if they're lucky. And a big, selfish part of him thinks it's worth it. That he's glad they let the Darkness out, if that's what it took for he and Dean to find their way back to each other.

While he's thinking about that, Dean spreads his hand out against the still-tender scar on Sam's belly. "Hey," he says.

"Mm."

For a long time, Dean doesn't answer. His fingertips trace Sam's ribs, then slide down to tease Sam's sensitive prick. Sam flinches, but stirs with renewed interest. "I'm gonna miss this," Dean says at last.

"Yeah," says Sam. He combs his fingers through Dean's hair, closes his eyes, and breathes in. "Me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Written in a few hours for riyku's prompt of "in the dark." Not beta'ed.


End file.
